whiteout
by bravevulnerability
Summary: '"There's no one else I'd rather be snowed in with," he teases, his lips grazing the chilled shell of her ear, curling into a grin when a shudder that he doubts is from the cold clambers down her spine, but the words couldn't be more true.' Castle and Beckett weather the storm together. Set early season 4.


**A/N: To those of you enduring any real blizzards currently happening, wishing you safety and lots of warmth.**

**Set in early season 4, anytime post 4x10 (Cuffed). **

* * *

_"A whiteout is a weather condition in which visibility and contrast are severely reduced by snow. The horizon disappears completely and there are no reference points at all, leaving the individual with a distorted orientation."_

* * *

Castle startles at the sound of a knock at his door, pausing for a second until the soft, almost hesitant noise fills the airs again before rising from his desk. A glance through his office window reassures him of the ungodly weather conditions outside, the blizzard only growing more ferocious in its intensity.

He doesn't know who he expects to be on the other side of the door, but it definitely isn't her, and his heart leaps in excitement just as readily as it constricts with concern to see her standing in his hallway, ice coating her shoulders and snow flurries decorating her hair.

"Kate," he gasps, tugging her inside by the stiff limb of her arm. She's shivering from the cold, from the ice that fills the air and the wind that howls like an angry beast outside, and god is she insane being out in this weather? "What are you doing here?"

"Tried to call you," she grits out through teeth that chatter and he winces in realization.

"I was writing," he murmurs, the apology laced through his words, and helps slide the snow-drenched coat from her shoulders. "I forgot all about my phone. Is everything okay?"

"The heat went out at my apartment and all the weather reports have warned that the storm was only going to get worse so I-"

"Did you want to stay with me?"

The words are out of his mouth before he's taken the time to measure the weight of such a request and her eyes shoot up from their staring match with the floor, wide and embarrassed.

"No, I just - I hadn't meant to - this was stupid," she huffs and it's then that he notices the bag clutched in her hand.

"What's that?"

"Castle," she protests, taking a stumbling step backwards, but he's already shut the front door, locked her in the warmth of his loft, and he manages to snag the small sack from her frozen fingers.

He takes a peek while he bats at the gloved hand attempting to rescue the recyclable bag from his grasp, the chill that's likely seeped through her skin making her movements jerky and uncoordinated and he forces his mind to stay away from thoughts of a freezer, of the way the bitter cold had once wrapped around her, consumed her, stealing the life from her eyes.

He catches her hand the next time it makes a grab for the bag, slips the glove off, and pins her frigid fingers to his chest, surprising her long enough to examine the contents of the bag without issue and hopefully warm her chilled hand at the same time.

Inside he can see a the red fabric of a throw blanket, a couple of flashlights, batteries, some candles, two bottles of water, and a bag of gummy bears.

"It's a blizzard survival kit…" she mumbles, biting down on her bottom lip when he lifts his gaze to her. "I didn't mean to be presumptuous, I just thought with Alexis being in California and your mom with her…"

"You thought I'd need a blizzard buddy?" he grins, doing his best to turn this into a joke before he can give in to the urgent need to do something stupid like kiss her, to show this woman who trekked across the disastrous snow globe New York City has become to provide him with company and a smile how much he loves... her thoughtfulness.

Beckett laughs, ducking her head to hide behind the curling curtain of her damp hair.

"Sure, Castle," she acquiesces, the sigh that leaves her lips turning into a sharp intake of surprise when he wraps an arm around her shoulders and holds her trembling frame to his chest.

They don't usually hug, don't usually indulge in anything more than the friendly bump of shoulders or fleeting brush of hands, but she hugged him a few weeks ago, in this exact same spot after a dinner with his family actually.

It had been the night that followed his survival of the bank explosion and he still remembered how her eyes had shone with reluctance and a hint of regret while he walked her to the door once she had cleared her plate and consumed the last of her wine. She had slipped her arms around his neck before he could hold her coat up for her, resting her chin to his collarbone while her cheek had pressed warm and pleasant against his.

Just as it does now.

"There's no one else I'd rather be snowed in with," he teases, his lips grazing the chilled shell of her ear, curling into a grin when a shudder that he doubts is from the cold clambers down her spine, but the words couldn't be more true.

* * *

She still doesn't know what she was thinking.

The superintendent had notified all residents of her building that the growing strength of the snowstorm had knocked the heating out, along with the power, while she was still filling out paperwork in the precinct and the thought of going home to a cold, empty apartment as a blizzard raged outside had caused her to hesitate on the cab ride to her place.

So she had paid the driver extra to turn around, stopping at one of the few open convenience stores before taking her to SoHo, to him. She hadn't considered it might be a good idea to stop at her apartment first, to pack an overnight bag, but if she was being honest with hereself, she knew if she would have done that, her courage would have crumbled.

He's waiting for her, so patient and good, and she's trying for him, trying to show him that she can be something worth waiting for. So she thought… no, she didn't think, and sometimes, that was the best thing she could do for them both.

But her lack of preparation has her standing half naked in his bathroom, stepping into a pair of sweatpants that she has to roll up around her waist and a sweatshirt that dwarfs her upper body and smells like him.

"Are those okay?" Castle calls from his bedroom and she can still hear him rummaging around in his bureau, just in case she doesn't approve of his current choice.

Kate spares one last glance at herself in his mirror and grins approvingly. She likes the look of herself in his clothes.

"They're fine," she assures him as she opens the door, stepping out of his master bathroom and curling her freezing toes into the hardwood of his bedroom floor.

His eyes soften, a sparkling cerulean at the sight of her, and he extends a pair of socks that she gratefully accepts.

"How are Alexis and Martha doing?" she asks while she takes a seat at the edge of his bed to slip her feet into the cozy cotton of his socks. The intimacy of this moment in his bedroom, of her wrapped in his clothes and perched contently on his bed, isn't lost on her and she can see by the hard swallow of his throat that it doesn't slip past him either. It's almost painful, to watch the longing flash in his eyes while a similar form of yearning laces through her lungs, robbing her of air and leaving a bitter taste of breathlessness on her tongue.

"Warm," he huffs in mock jealousy, salvaging the easy conversation. Always striving to say the right thing and keep them afloat in this sea of uncertainty they wade through. She's so tired of wading, she wants to swim. "They're enjoying an evening spa retreat at the moment to recover from time spent with Meredith."

Kate chuckles, wiggling her toes to elicit some heat. "At least they have each other for emotional support this time."

"Well, since Mother drags Alexis along on most of her adventures, she only saw it fair to accompany Alexis on the yearly trip to Los Angeles," he muses. "That, and she knew a blizzard was approaching and saw a perfect opportunity."

"You should have gone with them," Kate murmurs, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from the fabric of his sweatpants.

It takes him a mere second to approach her, slow but confident, his knees bumping against hers, but she keeps her eyes trained on the pointless work of her fingers.

"I like it here," he shrugs, dislodging her hand from the surface of her thigh to loosely tangle their fingers, and she risks a glance upwards to see him smiling down at her with too much in his eyes. Too much knowledge, too much affection, too much love that she's not supposed to remember.

"It's warmer there," she reminds him, absentmindedly stroking her thumb along the bone of his wrist.

"I don't know," he hums, tugging on her fingers until she stands from the bed. Their height difference is noticeable without her heels and she has to lift her eyes to meet his. If she extended upwards onto her tiptoes, she could reach his mouth, dust a kiss to his lips. "I'm pretty warm here."

She rises on the tips of her toes and Castle's hands land on her waist, burning through the thick fabric of his sweatshirt.

There's been a shift since she nearly lost him to a combination of gunmen and an explosion, subtle but continuous, even more so since their recent encounter with a tiger. Their friendship has gradually bloomed into tentative touches and unhidden smiles, brief clashes of hands and embraces that last a moment too long. But this... this is far more than subtle. This could change everything and she realizes with a ripple of relief that no longer scares her so much anymore.

There's hesitancy in his eyes now as they flicker down to the growing closeness of her mouth, but he doesn't try to stop her from leaning in.

"Me too."

She can taste his breath on her lips and her hand lifts to his face, cupping the stubbled edge of his jaw in her palm. All traces of the chill in her veins have been eradicated, the walls she spoke of melting like snow around her heart. Could it possibly be this easy?

"Kate," he whispers when her nose bumps his.

And then there is nothing but darkness.

* * *

About to kiss the woman he's in love with and the power goes out. Typical.

Castle sighs, regretfully, and drops his forehead to Kate's, listening to her release a heavy exhale that sounds so very mournful as she descends back to the balls of her feet.

"At least you brought candles," he mumbles into the darkness, his lips quirking at the quiet breath of her laughter filling the silence of his bedroom.

"And flashlights," she quips, disentangling from the arms around her waist, but finding his hand, guiding him through his loft as if its her own until they reach the bag she left on his couch in the living room.

They decorate his apartment in candlelight, using the handful she brought over and his own stash to illuminate the kitchen, the living room, and his bedroom in soft, flickering light.

"Want some hot chocolate?" Castle asks once they've run out of candles and she quirks an eyebrow at him in response. "The stove is gas," he explains. "I can just heat up the milk there. Humor me, Beckett."

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't deny him, and he sets to work at making two cups of his best hot chocolate. Kate has relocated to the living room window by the time he's done, her profile illuminated by the candlelight and the blinding white of the snow, and his breath catches for a moment at the sight of her, stunning but still so untouchable.

Except for that moment in his bedroom, that dizzying second spent with her body in his hands and her lips so close to his own. He hadn't meant to draw her into a kiss – well, _almost _kiss – but it didn't really matter, did it? It's not as if they would ever speak of it again.

It's for the best, he reminds himself. She's not ready.

"It's kind of beautiful," she murmurs when she notices him approaching, accepting the steaming cup of cocoa he holds out to her and cradling the mug to her chest as her eyes roam the roaring whiteness that covers the city for as far as the eye can see. "Destructive, but beautiful."

He sighs and steps up behind her, allowing his chest to brush her back.

"Couldn't have said it better myself."

* * *

"Castle, we are not building a blanket fort."

"C'mon," he whines, returning from his bedroom with his comforter wrapped around his shoulders, looking adorable and petulant. "You really want to sleep all alone in the guest bedroom when I could turn the entire living room into a giant fort we could share?"

"I'd prefer a bed to the floor," she corrects, smothering the smirk his pout elicits with her hand.

They finished their hot chocolates hours ago and after sharing conversation and the blanket she had brought over in her 'survival kit', she's ready to crawl into a warm bed. At least, as warm as a bed can be in the freezer his loft is slowly turning into.

With the power went the heating and it's mentally taking all she has not to flash back to their time in an actual freezer. It's not the same, not even close, but ever since they had nearly died at the hands of hypothermia, winters have always been harder.

"What about the couch?" he bargains, wiggling his eyebrows at her and she doesn't try to hide her smile from him this time.

Maybe camping out in his living room with him isn't such a bad idea.

* * *

Castle ties the last corner of the sheet to the leg of the coffee table and sits back on his haunches to admire his work. It took an entire linen closet and his bed is stripped bare, but he has nearly his whole living room draped in bed sheets.

"I must admit," Beckett yawns from the couch, where she's wrapped in the comforter from his bed. They've blown out all the candles, but he has a flashlight turned on and shining bright in the middle of their fort, leaving her in the shadows, but still visible. "I'm impressed."

"Told you," he preens from his spot on the floor. He's set up a pile of blankets for himself where the coffee table once was so Kate can have the couch. Sleeping on the hardwood will likely do a number on his back, but on the floor in a blanket fort with Kate is far more appealing than his empty bedroom.

"Castle, come up here," she calls, unfurling her nest of bedding to make room for him, but he stares back at her in confusion.

He knows it's late and cold and that she's likely tired, but she can't be that out of it. Not enough to be asking for cuddle time on his sofa.

"No, Kate, I've got the floor, remember? It's fine I-"

"It's freezing and I don't want you on the floor anyway," she states, as if it's no big deal. As if she isn't asking him to crawl onto the very limited space of his couch with her and sleep, in the most literal sense, together. "Rick," she sighs with impatience and he gives in all too easily, abandoning his space on the ground and tentatively climbing onto the leather couch with her.

Kate makes room for him, but not much, allowing him to lie comfortably on his back, but proceeding to drape half of her entire body atop his side - the weight of her sleepy, warm, and right.

But oh, this is not good. Not when there are walls and lines and boundaries they have to remain on opposite sides of. Kate doesn't seem the least bit perturbed by their position, though, slipping an arm around his waist, curling one of her legs over his thigh, and resting her head to the pillow they both share. So dangerously close.

"We can forget this happened tomorrow," he promises her, but he feels her brow furrow against his cheek, and she lifts her head from the pillow to stare down at him, her eyes clear and golden in the fading light from the dying flashlight.

Kate's thumb skims along his bottom lip just before she leans in to replace the stroke of her fingertip with the touch of her mouth. He stiffens by reflex, expecting her to do the same, but her thumb sweeps soothingly along the bone of his cheek and the sweet pressure of her lips remains.

The kiss is over all too soon, but she doesn't retreat as if she's made a mistake, not like he keeps anticipating. She returns her head to his pillow, her lips at his neck, brushing his skin when she speaks.

"I don't want to forget."

* * *

She startles awake when the power kicks back in during the early hours of the morning, the jerk of her body waking Castle along with her, and they both wince at the shine of the living room lights filtering through the thin sheets of the fort.

"Morning," Castle rasps, squinting through the grit of sleep still clouding his eyes to smile at her.

They've both rolled to their sides, her body trapped between him and the couch cushions, practically suffocating, but for once she doesn't feel smothered. She's not supposed to be ready, still working to be more, to demolish the brickwork and mortar standing between them, but this doesn't feel like waiting and the wall feels more like rubble.

"Hi," she answers with a returning lift of her lips that she presses to his chin, listening to his soft intake of breath.

It's not the first time she's woken with him beside her, this awakening far more pleasant than the last, and she learns he's cuddly in the morning, curling around her and increasing the tangled web of their limbs. She's never woken like this with anyone else, never enjoyed the feel of being engulfed by another person's body, but she doesn't mind allowing Castle the slip of his knee between hers or the band of his arm around her neck. She could even drift back to sleep in the intricate embrace, but after a few minutes of dozing, she pulls him up with her, curious to see the state of the blizzard.

They have to crawl out of the blanket fort he refuses to demolish and Castle heads straight for the light switch as soon as they're free, returning the room to relative darkness once again. At the window, she can see the sun on the horizon, its thin rays breaking through the sheets of delicate snow still trickling from the sky and bathing the porcelain city in color.

"I think the storm's passed."

Rick's tentative hand on her hip infuses warmth through her bones, his heartbeat a comforting rhythm at her shoulder blade when her back takes refuge against his chest, and in the silence of the sunrise, she feels no chaos. Only peace and the slow spill of love through her veins for the man at her back.

The storm is over. Only the aftermath remains.


End file.
